


Too Hot (Hot Damn)

by 0bviousLeigh



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6930826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0bviousLeigh/pseuds/0bviousLeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(post series ending) Ryoga is trying to get some work done, but it's not easy when it's a million degrees outside, and when Yuma is messing with his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Hot (Hot Damn)

**Author's Note:**

> My word doc summary for this was “It’s the summer between college years and Yuma and Shark are studying. It’s hot as all get out and Shark has his hair in a ponytail. Yuma messes it up. Making out happens, followed by other stuff.”

Ryoga curses everyone who ever told him that summer college courses were easier than regular semester ones. He planned on getting his math requirement taken care of over the summer, but as far as he could tell it was exactly the same as the fall and spring classes, and all he was getting from his summer class was a severe case of dehydration. Studying was terrible, but it was worse when it was hot enough to make his calculator sweat.

“I’ve saved entire galaxies,” Yuma whines, slumped over the low table, “I’ve saved this world what, three times? Shouldn’t I just automatically pass any class I take?”

Ryoga doesn’t look up from his calculator. “Good work explaining that to Professor Fudo.” Sweat trickles down the side of his face, he wipes it off on his shoulder. “And I saved the planet three times right along next to you, so your logic should apply to me as well, but you don’t see me whining about not wanting to study.”

“You also tried to destroy several worlds,” Yuma says.

Ryoga uncrosses his legs and kicks Yuma in the shin. Yuma grunts and Ryoga smirks briefly before he asks, “Can’t you turn that fan up?”

Yuma looks at the pitiful little fan on the window sill. “Nope, that’s as high as it goes.”

Ryoga grumbles and stabs the buttons on his calculator. They could have studied in the library, but Yuma said it was too crowded. They could have studied at the mansion, with its central air, but Yuma said they would be bothered. He was probably right, but Ryoga would rather be bothered and have air con than be alone and hot, sticky, and uncomfortable. He fans the back of his neck, wondering if he ought to take the pair of scissors on the table and chop his ponytail right off. He notices Yuma watching him and makes a face.

“Are you going to do anything at all?” Ryoga snaps. “If you’re not, then I’m going home.”

Yuma gets this smirk on his face. Before Ryoga can ask what the hell he’s thinking, Yuma is on his knees and crawling into Ryoga’s lap.

“Not what I meant,” Ryoga says.

Yuma straddles Ryoga’s hips and presses close to his chest. Ryoga’s hands go to Yuma’s waist, steadying him. Yuma’s arms rest on Ryoga’s shoulders and he leans down for a kiss. It’s too hot for this, Ryoga thinks, but it’s too hot to put any effort into pushing Yuma off of him, so he simply leans back and closes his eyes. He feels Yuma’s fingers at the nape of his neck, then a slight tug at the back of his head, then his hair falls around his shoulders.

“Hey!” Ryoga yells, leaning back and frowning at Yuma. Yuma tosses aside Ryoga’s (actually Rio’s) hair tie and Ryoga asks, “Are you trying to give me heatstroke? I had it like that for a reason!”

Yuma has the audacity to pout. “I thought you liked it when I play with your hair. Can’t do that if it’s up.”

Ryoga is about to protest—Yuma has done plenty with Ryoga’s hair when it’s up, in fact he distinctly remembers a few nights ago when Yuma begged to braid Ryoga’s hair and he snuck a flower in it (the bastard)—but before he can form the words, Yuma twists his fingers into the hair at the base of Ryoga’s head and _pulls_. Ryoga follows the motion, mouth parting in a gasp.

Yuma’s smirk is back. “I also thought you liked it when I pull your hair.”

If Ryoga thought it was hot before, it’s about ten times hotter now. He feels the blood rush to his cheeks and every breath he takes feels like he’s inhaling fire. Yuma leans down to kiss him again, not letting up on his grip on Ryoga’s hair. Ryoga has been an emperor twice, he’s commanded armies, he’s fought against a god, but he melts in Yuma’s hands.

Yuma bites down on Ryoga’s lip and gives his hair a sharp tug at the same time. Ryoga moans, lips parting, and Yuma slips his tongue into Ryoga’s mouth. Ryoga has to push Yuma back so he can breathe, and even then Yuma doesn’t stop. He tugs at the hem of Ryoga’s shirt, and Ryoga lifts his arms so Yuma can tug it off. Sweat beads on Yuma’s forehead, and Ryoga tugs on Yuma’s collar.

“You, too,” he says, his voice hoarse.

As soon as Yuma’s shirt is on the floor, Ryoga’s mouth is on his chest. He scrapes his teeth over Yuma’s sternum, up to his collar bones, the hollow of his throat. Yuma rocks his hips down and Ryoga whines, digging his nails into Yuma’s hips. There’s a battle waging inside Ryoga’s head, with one side saying that it’s too hot for this nonsense—he already feels grossly sweaty, and this would be much nicer if it was happening somewhere air conditioned. The other side can’t believe Ryoga would willingly pass up sex because it’s a little hot.

Yuma adjusts his grip on Ryoga’s hair, grabbing higher up on his head, and he uses the leverage to pull Ryoga’s head up. Ryoga’s very glad that Akari isn’t home and Haru is watching TV, it’s unlikely that anyone noticed the loud moan that just left his mouth.

Yuma smirks again. “You’re so hot,” he murmurs.

That brings some of Ryoga’s snark back. “No kidding,” he growls, “Or did you not notice that it’s a million degrees outside?”

Yuma yanks Ryoga’s head back (Ryoga _whimpers_ ) and presses his lips to Ryoga’s jaw. “Not like you don’t sweat during sex on a normal day.” He licks over Ryoga’s jaw and then kisses him again.

Ryoga wrinkles his nose—Yuma’s tongue tastes like sweat. That is _not_ hot.

“Seriously,” Ryoga mumbles against Yuma’s lips, “I’m not letting you fuck me without AC. I already feel gross.”

Yuma leans back. “You’re not gross,” he says.

“I said I feel gross,” Ryoga says with a half-hearted scowl. It’s hard to be truly angry when Yuma’s ass is up against his cock.

Yuma let’s go of Ryoga’s hair and traces his fingers down his cheek. “Can I suck you off?”

That makes Ryoga pause. Usually he’s the one on his knees, with Yuma pulling his hair while Ryoga blows him, and after Yuma comes he’ll finger Ryoga open and then…

“Hello?” Yuma calls, tapping Ryoga’s nose. “Anyone home?”

Ryoga bats Yuma’s hand away. “Don’t expect anything in return,” he says.

Yuma’s eyes actually light up. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” Ryoga sighs.

Yuma shoves Ryoga down on the floor and kisses him, fumbling with Ryoga’s pants until they’re open. He pulls back, leaving Ryoga with a sharp nip on his chin, and pulls down Ryoga’s pants and underwear—Ryoga can’t help but wonder just how clean the floor is. Yuma gets Ryoga’s pants to his knees and stops.

“Lazy,” Ryoga says.

Yuma looks up at him with a predatory look in his eyes. “Oh, am I?”

Ryoga takes a shaky breath in and rests one hand on the back of Yuma’s head. “The laziest.”

Yuma keeps his eyes on Ryoga’s as he sucks the tip of Ryoga’s cock into his mouth. Ryoga’s head falls back with a _thunk_ and he digs his nails into Yuma’s scalp. Yuma inhales through his nose and sinks down, cheeks hollowed, his mouth impossibly hot, until his nose is to Ryoga’s skin, and then he swallows. Somehow Yuma’s hands have ended up pressing Ryoga’s hips to the floor, and Ryoga almost thinks it’s unfair, what with how many times Yuma has fucked his mouth, but the thought slips away as Yuma swallows again and then pulls off slowly. The sound is obscene, and Ryoga tosses his head back with a moan. Ryoga shivers when Yuma pulls off completely and he squirms, kicking his pants off and draping his legs over Yuma’s shoulders.

“Get your fucking mouth—” Ryoga begins, then he cuts off with a gasp as Yuma sits up, turns his head and bites the inside of Ryoga’s knee.

“What were you saying about my _fucking mouth_?” Yuma asks, bringing one hand up to cradle Ryoga’s knee.

Ryoga stares up at the ceiling, panting. If he thought it was hot before, it feels like he’s swimming through fire now. Yuma leans down and licks at the sweat beading on Ryoga’s stomach, dipping his tongue into Ryoga’s navel.

Ryoga shivers and mutters, “You’re gross,” but his voice sounds more like a plea than an admonishment.

“Only for you,” Yuma says happily. He takes Ryoga’s cock in his mouth again and Ryoga arches up with a sharp cry, hands gripping Yuma’s hair. This time when Ryoga rolls his hips up into the heat of Yuma’s mouth, Yuma lets him. Yuma moans and the sound goes straight to Ryoga’s libido, literally, and Ryoga pants out Yuma’s name like it’s a prayer.

The first time they did this, the first time Ryoga got on his knees for Yuma, he’d been embarrassed by how much he wanted Yuma to tell him what to do, for Yuma to grab him by the hair and show Ryoga how to please him. He half expected Yuma to tell him to stop kidding around, but all Yuma did was ask that Ryoga tell him if he did something Ryoga didn’t like. The memory makes him blush more than the sound of Yuma sucking down his cock do.

After a few more minutes with Yuma between his legs, Ryoga decided that fuck it, he’s already sweating bullets, the side of his brain that’s telling him it’s a great time for amazing sex wins out, and he raps his knuckles on Yuma’s head. “Oye!”

Yuma sits up, looking confused. His lips are swollen and Ryoga’s stomach does backflips at the sight.

“What?” Yuma asks, his voice rough.

Ryoga pushes himself up and tugs at Yuma’s pants. “Changed my mind,” he says, pressing his palm to Yuma’s crotch. Yuma’s hips jerk forward and Ryoga kisses him, grinding his palm down on Yuma’s dick.

“About?” Yuma asks when Ryoga lets him breathe.

Ryoga grins. “Sex. Go ahead, if you still want to.”

Yuma grabs Ryoga’s shoulders and hauls him in for another kiss. “Always, babe.”

Ryoga’s stomach flips again at the pet name. “Same rules apply,” he says, trying to muster the energy to look threatening. “Don’t expect a spectacular performance on my part, it’s still too hot for that.”

Yuma laughs and eases Ryoga off his lap. He opens one of the many trunks in the attic and pulls out two condoms and lube—this is not the first time they’ve had sex in the attic, it probably won’t be the last—and tugs off his pants. Ryoga runs his hand down Yuma’s calf and Yuma shivers. He’s been working out, getting in shape for adventures, and his efforts show. He’s not the scrawny kid he used to be, but then neither is Ryoga.

Yuma grabs the fan off the window sill and puts it on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Ryoga asks (he should know better than to ask).

Yuma kneels over Ryoga and presses him to the floor. “Making sure you’re comfortable,” he says.

The way he says it, completely earnestly, makes Ryoga blush. “Shut up.”

Yuma laughs and tears open one of the condoms. He slips it over Ryoga’s cock, and Ryoga tries not to get too into the feeling of Yuma’s hands on him again, and then tears open the other one as he lays down behind Ryoga.

“Seriously, what—” Ryoga asks, but Yuma presses a finger to his lips.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Yuma asks. He presses his chest to Ryoga’s back, kisses his neck, and Ryoga hears the cap pop off the lube.

“This doesn’t seem like it’ll work,” Ryoga mutters.

“Will you stop worrying and enjoy yourself?” Yuma laughs. He pushes on Ryoga’s shoulder and Ryoga lays down. Yuma presses close again and trails slick fingers down Ryoga’s back.

“Is the fan helping?” Yuma asks.

Actually it is, but Ryoga doesn’t manage to say that, since Yuma chooses that moment to start stretching him. They’re far enough into the sexual aspect of their relationship that Yuma knows what Ryoga can take, what hurts him just enough to make pleasure race through his veins. Yuma can be gentle, but only when Ryoga wants it. And right now Ryoga doesn’t want gentle, he wants to get off.

Ryoga squirms back, trying to get Yuma’s fingers deeper inside of him, but Yuma teases, curling them in slightly and then pulling out, keeping Ryoga on edge. Yuma keeps kissing his neck, and when Yuma starts nipping at his earlobe, Ryoga bites out that if Yuma doesn’t hurry up he’s going to jerk himself off and leave Yuma alone. At that Yuma shoves three fingers deep inside Ryoga’s body and Ryoga gasps out a plea for more.

Yuma withdraws his fingers. He curls that same hand around Ryoga’s hip (he can’t even find it in himself to be grossed out) and nudges his legs apart. Ryoga wishes they had a mirror so he could see what kind of acrobatics Yuma is performing, but then if they had a mirror Yuma would probably do something like make Ryoga watch himself while Yuma fucks him, and then proceed to tell him that he’s so beautiful like this, and jesus Christ now that image isn’t going to leave Ryoga alone.

Yuma rocks his hips forward and Ryoga cries out when Yuma’s pressed fully inside him. Yuma kisses his cheek.

“Not so loud, Ryoga,” he whispers. “Try to contain it.”

“Brat,” Ryoga whines.

Yuma keeps his hand on Ryoga’s hip as he starts to move. A floor is never a comfortable place for sex and Ryoga knows he’s going to have a bruise on his side tomorrow, but it’s better than being on his knees or in Yuma’s lap, having to actually work for it. Yuma lets Ryoga lie on the floor and moan his appreciation, while Yuma moves from cradling Ryoga’s hip to stroking his chest, stomach, thighs, and finally his cock.

“Have you always been this vocal?” Yuma asks when Ryoga swears hoarsely on a particularly well-angled thrust.

“I know it gets you off,” Ryoga bites out. Yuma’s thumb brushes the tip of Ryoga’s dick and he swears again, he presses his forehead into the floor and scratches his nails across the wood. “Fucking hell, Yuma!”

“Are you gonna come?” Yuma asks, his lips pressed to Ryoga’s ear.

Ryoga nods. Yuma bites him.

“Say it,” Yuma whispers.

“I’m going to come,” Ryoga whimpers, his eyes screwed shut.

Yuma pulls out and Ryoga is seconds away from screaming in his face when Yuma grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him up on his knees. Yuma wraps one arm around Ryoga’s chest and the other around his waist, he presses close behind Ryoga and enters him again. Yuma moves his hand from Ryoga’s chest to his jaw, and he makes Ryoga turns his head.

Oh, god, Yuma must be a mind reader—he has a mirror in the attic after all.

It’s not a big enough mirror for Ryoga to see anything below his collar bones. Ryoga looks like a hot mess. His hair is all over the place, his face is flushed, his lips are swollen from Yuma kissing and biting them, and he’s pretty sure there’s a hickey forming on his shoulder. Yuma hooks his chin over Ryoga’s shoulder and he smirks.

“I never get tired of watching you,” Yuma whispers. He wraps his hand around Ryoga’s cock and starts jerking him off. Ryoga’s head falls back on Yuma’s shoulder, he gasps and exhales a whimper of Yuma’s name. Yuma covers his mouth when he comes, thank god, because Ryoga is pretty sure that by now Yuma knows he’s always loudest during his orgasm. Ryoga reaches behind himself and digs his nails into Yuma’s thighs, and he hears a moan that he knows means Yuma’s coming, too. They stay still, pressed together, for a few minutes, and then Yuma slowly pulls out.

Ryoga flops back down on the floor, totally drained and totally covered in sweat. Boneless and satisfied as he is, he’s now almost desperate for a shower.

Yuma kisses Ryoga’s cheek as he carefully removes the condom from Ryoga’s cock. He ties it and tosses it in his waste basket.

“Please tell me Lillybot doesn’t take care of your garbage,” Ryoga mumbles.

Yuma laughs and snuggles up behind Ryoga. “She can’t get up here.”

“Thank god,” Ryoga says. He rolls over and leans his forehead against Yuma’s chest. He can feel Yuma reach for his hair and he bats Yuma away. “You had that hand in my ass, idiot, don’t touch my hair with it.”

Yuma snorts but obeys. “I guess we need to shower, huh?”

Ryoga nods and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to sleep when he feels this hot and gross, but he also doesn’t want to move. And he certainly doesn’t want to climb down the ladder to attic right now.

Yuma sits up after a few minutes and grabs his underwear. “Be right back,” he says, disappearing down the ladder.

Ryoga rolls over and grabs his shirt. It’s cold with drying sweat and Ryoga wrinkles his nose, he’s going to need to borrow one of Yuma’s shirts, or maybe he has a few stashed around here, he seems to remember wanting to do that, whether or not he actually followed through with it…

Yuma pops his head up into the attic. “We’re home alone right now, you want to go shower?”

Ryoga rolls on to his back and stretches, groaning slightly. Yuma reaches out and grabs his foot, Ryoga kicks him. “Too tired,” he mutters.

“I could carry you down the ladder,” Yuma offers.

Ryoga sits up. “I’d rather you didn’t kill me today.”

Yuma pulls himself up more and leans forward. Ryoga meets him halfway. Their kiss is slow and intimate, lasting several minutes. Ryoga can feel Yuma’s eyelashes on is skin and it tickles, he has to lean back before he starts laughing.

“I love you,” Yuma says.

Ryoga clears his throat. “Love you too.”

Yuma grins and starts to climb back down. “A drink, and then a shower, and then post-sex cuddles!”

“On a bed,” Ryoga demands as he pulls on his boxers, tosses his jeans down ahead of himself, and then climbs down the ladder. Yuma kisses him again as soon as his feet are on the floor.

“On a bed,” Yuma agrees, poking Ryoga’s soon-to-be bruised hip.

Ryoga swats him. “Last one in the shower is the big spoon.”

He swears Yuma loses on purpose.

**Author's Note:**

> Ryoga is a total softie even after being reincarnated into the human world for a second time because he has always been a not-so-secret softie FIGHT ME. Also does anyone remember that song "Shark in the Water" by VV Brown? I had it on repeat while I wrote this because I am cliche like that.
> 
> PS - Professor Fudo ;)


End file.
